


Melanocetidae

by oncewewerezombies



Series: Homesmut fills [6]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe, Body Horror, Bulges and Nooks, Caliginous Romance | Kismesis, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Xeno, repurposing of body parts, the Condesce is a cavefish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-01
Updated: 2015-11-22
Packaged: 2018-04-29 08:40:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5121938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oncewewerezombies/pseuds/oncewewerezombies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I am fascinated by splickedylit's conception of Condesce as an evolutionary throwback and though there is already art for it, I want fanfiction...shipping fanfiction.</p><p>Grand Highblood is Condesce's handler/interpreter. He is one of the few people who know what she really looks like and he still wants to stick his bulge in her. Bonus: she comes from an evolutionary period where males would die after mating so he is really playing with fire.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> [Splickedylit's original musings and basis of prompt](http://splickedylit.tumblr.com/post/117645859398/you-know-what-keeps-occurring-to-me-though-not)

When the very brand new Most Motherfucking Mirthful Majesty, Kurloz Makara, saw Her Imperial Condescension for the first time face to face and in the flesh, his first thought was ‘I have got to motherfucking tap that.’ It probably wasn’t the first thought most trolls would have. Not even the second or third but he’d always been a little off when it came to his quadrants. 

He’d never really realised, up until then, that he’d never properly seen the Empress before. Sure, she was on every Imperial broadcast, but she was just brooding darkness, pink distance-lens viewer frames and glittering gold. There wasn’t a _face_ , only a presence. A troll couldn’t see her whole body, just the legs of her slick aquatic suit and the pointed toes of her walking platforms in tyrian purple. Sometimes not even that. She was a commanding voice, a golden throne decorated with the horns of fallen Heiresses and bright sparkling jewels, masses of hair and hot pink ganderbulb enclosures. Glimpses of a fuchsia-lined mouth and sharp teeth in the right light, if you got lucky.

What she was, in real fucking life, was a motherfucking monster.

Everything about her was wrong. Trolls didn’t look like her anymore, and he’d always known that the Condesce was ancient but she was beyond that. She was beyond age. Her face was bluntly featured and sharp around the edges where her armour plates came together, her eyes wide and round as some fish-thing from the deeps that had washed up on his beach once after a storm, limbs longer than they should be and much closer to the same length for both fronds and graspers then his own were. Her mouth was painted to look soft but when she laughed, her face almost split in two while her jaw unhinged in ways his never would. Her tongue was obscene and ringed with gold down its unsettling length. 

When she peeled out of the top of the bodysuit, the gills on her sides flared in elongated fuchsia gashes as she breathed, and the gold went beyond just jangling bangles and bands on her arms, thick jewelled rings on her fingers and chains around her neck and draped along and through her ridged horns. She had gold fucking inlaid into her chest and down her back. She had a carapace heavy enough to take it, as though her body was a mould that had been left to have the metal solidify in runnels; it was like nothing he’d ever seen before. He wanted it. He wanted to run the tip of his tongue along each and every furrow. See if they went all the way to her nook, what she’d done to decorate her bulge.

No one saw the Condesce except a very select chosen few. A few mute and deaf servants who never got to leave her palace or touch a computer that could stream outside the grounds, some ancient violet admirals and...the head of the Mirthful Church, her voice to the faithful and link between land and sea. And since he’d beaten the previous Grand Highblood in a long and brutal succession fight, he got to see the truth. It was the best motherfucking joke he’d ever been let into. A joke on the whole Messiahs blessed Empire. Trolls thought they were so bad ass, and of course everyone knew that the Empress was right up there in terms of bad-assdom but they had no idea. They had no real clue that the whole fucking shebang was being run by a creature so old that she didn’t even look like her people, because they’d evolved and moved on to become soft civilized things. While she hadn’t. Just kept getting older and older, and tougher and looking more fucked up and monstrous in comparison with her subjects with every passing eon.

It made him ache to match her, give her a challenge. It was obvious that none of her Heiresses ever had. All they’d done was die, every time they came up out of the surf and walked to the secluded Duelling Platform to meet the Empress and challenge her rule. He wanted to make her eyes darken down with pitch, he wanted to see her lose it, he wanted to make her tip over the edge and then meet her in the bottom of the caliginous abyss. Wanted to put his strength up against hers, see if a modern troll could meet the physical embodiment of their species’ ancestral past in any way at all. It’d be worth it, even if she culled him.

“Whale. So you beat down my Grand Highblood, guppy?”

He inclined his head a little to agree with her statement as she sprawled across her throne, one leg propped up over an arm while she used an elbow on the other arm to support her chin on her hand, and stared piercingly at him through her ganderbulb-frames. The pointed tips sparkled with shards of diamonds, and he couldn’t take his eyes off her and the way her suit was unzipped just about down to the top of her bonebulge and showed all the gold laid into her thorax and abdominal plates, keeping her heftsacks barely in check. Some fucking sight. He wondered what all the waders with their talk of glory of the Empire would think if they could see their Empress now.

It had taken a day or so for his own ship to get here from the Big Tent and meet up with her personal vessel halfway between central Alternia and her remote palace, but he still ached. The old bastard hadn’t died easily, and every breath hurt a little with the sting of cracked ribs, and the spot where his elder brother had knocked a fang out of the corner of his mouth throbbed. His arms had been scratched open with claws, and one of his eyes was all swelled up with a bruise. No point fucking about, he was a hell of a mess. Still, he’d put on his good courtgoing clothes, ones that the seamrippers had put together as fast as they could once his win had been announced, knowing that this was the first thing he was going to need them for. Had to put on some sort of show for the motherfucking Empress.

She stared at him. Stared with those huge glaring eyes, bulging and monstrous, before she laughed uproariously. “Don’t be so sea-rious, buoy!” Tapping the ends of her manicured claws against the curved spiral of her throne arm, he met her stare for stare, and took in the sight of his Empress at her ease. It was an impressive sight. She just truly gave no fucks that every clothed inch of her body was outlined in slick spandex and he could just about make out the slit and ripple of her nook and bulge-sheath through the crotch of it as she sat with her legs askew. “This isn’t the fin-st time this has harpooned. Sand one day, I’ll be sitting here and there eel be a new Highblood standin’ there, and you’ll be the one wrasse been culled.”

“Don’t plan on that happening for a long motherfucking time, wickedest fishbitch.” He felt the hollow of where his barkbeast tooth had been with the pointed tip of his tongue, and grinned. “Bitchtits suit, sista.”

The wader behind him hissed like a venombeast that had just been stepped on, while Kurloz kept his eyes on hers, not looking away or down, and slowly tilted his head just a bit. A little pitch flirt, just a tilt of his horns in a way that said ‘c’mon and try to take me’. He had some impressive horns, but hers were like weathered rock, and he wondered if they butted heads in a nice little black tussle, if she’d break his clean off with just a turn and a knock. Trying to get her underneath him in something caliginous would be. Fucking. Bitchtits.

“This is your empress, Subjuggulator, show a little more respect or-“

The grating sounds of the Empress’ laughter cut him off, and Kurloz let his grin widen a little in response. 

She had a laugh like an engine-powered vegetative ripping device, all buzz and rattle. Shit was hot as fuck. Much danger, much sex. She would fucking destroy him and Messiahs save him, all hail, he wanted to rip her gills open from top to bottom before she did.

“You’re a koi little angler, ain’t ya?”

“Whale, I minnow aboat koi, but I don’t pike to fin-k any fish is too big a catch for somefin like me.”

“HA!” She slammed a palm down hard on her throne and downright cackled, before getting up from her seat and sashaying her way on over. Her hips moved under the shiny material of her suit like a drumbeat, a thumping war beat and he held himself still and in place as she got up close to him. Surprisingly, she was shorter than him. Her terrible needle-like teeth gleamed as she grinned up at him, and he grinned back. Two monsters taking the measure of each other. “We’re gonna net on just fin, buoy. Prow we’re done with the plesandtries – get off my ship and go squash some lowbloods. Y’hear?” She gave him a little push in the centre of his chest, and turned her head to look at the wader standing stiff and uncertain next to him. “You too. Both of ya, fuck off. I’ll hail you when I need you.”

With that, it seemed his audience was done. Kurloz made his thoughtful way back to the deck to get on his personal vessel, ignoring the flapping and screeching from the offended elderly saltlicker who escorted him pretty much all the way there. A troll like that would have to get bored if that was the quality of her company, most of the time. Maybe he could offer her...something different.

For about a thousand or so hours, he just bided his time. Got down to business as Grand Highblood, putting his stamp on shit. Making sure everyone knew that a new troll was in charge, and he wasn’t going to be pushed about. If they wanted to try it, there was always the central ring of the Big Top, and they could fight out for who was going to rule. He wouldn’t be the first Mirthful to have a very short reign; but he hadn’t pulled his coup stupid and off the club. He’d built up support first, gotten his claws into some useful Church members and then he’d moved out. It would have come to nothing if he hadn’t been able to beat the old bastard, but he had, even if it had taken three nights.

That had been the fight of his life.

Once everything in his home territory was settled, he turned his mind to flirting with the Empress. Gonna fucking tap that prehistoric piece of ass. That’d be something, that was for fucking sure. He couldn’t even think about a legend where some lucky troll had tapped that, not one, flush or pitch. Couldn’t find one in pale or ash either. Lonely. That was it sounded like; he had the Church. No matter what quadrants he filled or not, there was always the Church around him, righteous and wicked fucking mirthful. Who did she have?

First he started being a little tardy to her calls and videoscreen meetings with the waders. Just a little. Not enough to be culled over, enough to be irritating. Sent her back an order with ‘fuck no’ scrawled over it in his own personal motherfucking hand and signed it off with a clown-nosed smiley face. Not something important, it had been an order phrased as a request and he hadn’t really felt like it, and he knew it would piss her off. Who said no to the Empress? No one, he bet.

But it didn’t even get him an angry commcall, let alone a personal audience.

So he had to sit and think about it a bit more. Just how to get her into pitch with him, that ancient lonely monster sitting out in the middle of the ocean all by herself. Servants didn’t fucking count. What could a shitblood say to her? He wanted to see her all up in black passion, her claws and fangs out for his flesh. Wanted to get his teeth into a black fin with its royal tyrian tines, his tongue up those channels of gold. His bulge up her icy nook. Hell, her bulge up his Messiahs bedamned wastechute, whatever, as long as they fell into something pitch and perfect as a motherfucking miracle.

He was well aware of the common misconceptions regarding his colour and his religion of choice and birth. Stupid clowns. Bloodlust-driven monsters. Grinning fools who had weird and almost lusus-like ties to others of their bloodcaste. Sloppy, quadrant-smearing idiots. Mad, bad and dangerous to know, it was true. He might be young, but he wasn’t stupid, and he wasn’t even really that young. Anyone would be young compared to her; she was from the beginning of time. A relic. Maybe he wasn’t speaking to her in a language that she understood.

Books were _not_ his forte, not outside of religious texts which he actually enjoyed. Scriptures were the life blood of the Church, and he was in charge of making sure that the blood reached every part of it. He knew those inside out and backwards, but the books he needed, that he knew would have the information he wanted...he didn’t know where to find them. 

So he got a tealblood admicutioner to do it. That was what those midbloods were for, dealing with paper and shit. Rituals of caliginous passion, the older the better, that was the search he put his little sniffbarkbeast on. If he wasn’t speaking pitch the way she knew, he’d find a way to say it that she did. He set the little bastard off, patted him on the head and went back to doing what needed doing. Maybe he wanted something impossible, and he still had a Church to run and Family to look after. There was one motherfuck load of work in that, and it was good and pure in a way that made him feel Messiahs blessed. What he felt he’d really been hatched for, what had been waiting for him once he’d been strong enough to take it.

While he wouldn’t say he’d forgotten about the little split-spike-horned teal he’d sent off to see what could be found, he really hadn’t been sure what he’d be able to dig up. If anything. The transcribed notes arrived in his desk in a little under two hundred hours, copies of ancient texts with attached translations, some pictures even. Huh. Since he’d done such a good job, Kurloz put in a little thumbs-up in the paperpusher’s file, maybe it would save him from a culling order one day, who knew, and moved on to reading and digesting what the teal had put together for him. 

Didn’t look all that dissimilar, on the base of things, at the tried and true root of what it meant to be in pitch with another troll. Just...stripped clean of a lot of hoofbeast shit. With a threat of actual death lurking in it; apparently she might just rip out his spinal cord when they’d finished filling a pail. Seemed to have been a thing that sure had happened to a lot of quadrant mates once upon a time. He could get behind it; explained why every so often there was an Heiress but at the same time, he couldn’t find a mention of any troll as her heart or spade. The motherfucks had been fucking culled post-pail. Rubbing his jaw thoughtfully, the purpleblood kicked his heels up on his desk and settled down to consider his next move in the campaign to break down Her Imperial Condescension into a black romance with her shitkicking Subjuggulator vassal-king.

The next thing he sent her was the fins of a seadweller noble who’d tried patronizing the purpleblood about Kurloz’ own underdeveloped aquatic characteristics at a briefing between Church and Admiralty.

He’d done them up nice for her after he’d butchered the corpse and sliced the seadweller fins off the face and neck, set the violet frills in a thin coat of clear resin to preserve them, interspersed the swinging crescents of fin with glittering crystals of jet and hung them off gold chains for a necklace. Really, they were kinda pretty; he could see her wearing them...maybe. If she wanted to make a point to her own nobles about what their place was, and just how far it was beneath her. Sweet as motherfucking bitchtits, he’d done some nice work on it. He held the glittering trophy of body parts up between his fingers, the chains dainty and fine, before setting it down in its plush, pure black jewellery box with his sign emblazoned on the top in his blood colour, shoved the thing in an Imperial courier bag and turned his attention back to his work. 

This time, he got a response. He had been in the middle of a private meeting with an old school ninjalette with a truly bounteous ass and kind of getting down to something that tasted red at the edges, when every communication screen in his private paperpusher block lit up with fuchsia and a gold Peixes symbol. _And_ blaring sirens coming out of every speaker possible, even shit he was pretty sure hadn’t been hooked up to the communications system in any way. Ever. Nice trick. “Outta here, and I’ll send you a honk later,” he said hurriedly, slapping the other Subjuggulator on that luscious ass to send her out and pretty sure he’d just ruined his chances of filling an easy pail before he pressed the incoming button to accept the call. Culling someone of the Church because they caught sight of Her Imperial Condescension wasn’t something he planned on doing, especially not to a ninjalette with such talent and fervour for the Messiahs like Beccan had.

“MAKARA!” The Empress’ voice howled like something demented down the line as her shriek replaced the scream of the sirens and he just about felt his nook gush at the rage coming through. Ooooooh, shiiiiit, he had it fucking bad. Glad that he was seated behind his desk and she couldn’t see that he was probably leaking into his pants, he put his elbows on the administrative plane-support and leaned forward. Cupped his head in both his hands, chin between his palms. Her mouth was a yawning chasm of abyssdweller fangs, and it was suicidal, but he wanted to put his bulge in it.

“I’m all motherfucking aural clots for you, most wicked and imperial of trolls,” he said in a somewhat respectful tone, and tried to look like he was paying attention. Not thinking about pailing. Especially not thinking about pailing _her_.

A wordless snarl echoed out of the sound-emitters around him, and he tried to look even more intellectually interested. Intent, in a purely _cerebral_ way. And definitely not concentrating on keeping his mind off what he was pretty sure was his bulge starting to unsheathe, that odd tickling feel of releasing pressure between his thighs with which he was highly familiar. Fuck.

“You don’t know what you’re doin’ here, angling for somefin like that wave me,” she hissed finally, and he shrugged a little. Not the response she wanted, by the way she slammed a palm against the screen. From the look of it, on her end, the crystal sheet had cracked. Just a little, not enough to end the call. “You shoald go fin-d someone foam your own era, at least!”

“But...did you fucking like it?” he said finally, raising an eyebrow. That was really the thing that interested him here. He’d known she was going to be mad about it, and oh yeah, her rage was like a fucking tsunami. It was pure and powerful, and he could drown himself in it. But that wasn’t what he wanted to _know_. “I did a lot of the work my own wicked fucking self...culled the wader personal-like.”

She stared back at him, too wide mouth twitching and long ridged claws pressed against the screen that joined them together across leagues of distance. Good thing, maybe, that they weren’t in the same room with each other, he wanted her properly pitch before that happened or she might just cull him and be done with it if he mistimed it. And she couldn’t smell him when he was here and she was way off on her lonely rockpile. Another thing to be thankful for, because he was pouring off concupiscent pheromones like he was facing off with an Imperial Drone. Shit, he was going to ruin his really nice, comfortable office chair – his pants were already a motherfucking write off.

“You shoaldn’t be sanding me pieces of my nobles.” Her painted lips slammed shut and the way she moved her head was like something blind and powerful questing for its prey. Kurloz let his eyelids lower a little, careful not send off any too challenging signals. He wanted a truthful answer, not something rageful provoked by impudence. “But...it was pretty, hoki! I piked it, you terribubble clownfish.” She chewed her lip, and toothy needles pierced her own skin, spilling tyrian down the sharp angle of her chin. It was an effort not to swallow visibly, wondering what it would taste like on his tongue. “You’re just a wiggler, reelly, you don’t prow what you’re swimmin’ into.”

“Probably not,” he agreed with her, and shrugged again. A measured degree of insolence that had the effect he wanted. By the way her face twitched, he could see the little spades of pitch rising up inside her thinkpan, just lifting up and floating in her terrible glassy-eyed glare. Shitttttfuck, he was a ruin of slurry right now. “Gotta do what feels most motherfucking right, so do the Scriptures preach. I just really fucking loathe you, fishter.”

“Shut _up_ , you im-mast-ure grub!”

The screens went blank, and he scratched his chin thoughtfully before levering himself out of his chair and going almost splay-legged to his ablution block. Good thing he’d been in private quarters, instead of in chapel or some such. That would been a bit unfunny. Just needed to let off a little steam with a little self-hate, shove his ruined clothes down the destroyifier chute and wash himself clean of frustrated pitch genematerial. Fuck. And the chair was an absolute write off. He was kind of sad about that – he’d just gotten it broken in the way he fucking liked it. 

The next time he sat in on a vidconference between the Empress and her fish trolls, him in his fortress on one end while the saltlickers stood around a table waiting for her to join them in the meeting block at the other end, she wore the fucking necklace. It glittered against her black throat, violet and gold with gleams of jet sparkling in a different black than her carapace as she sauntered into view, double-ended gold trident held casually across one arm as she went to her throne and sat down. He couldn’t keep his smirking grin to himself as a wave of shock and disgust went through the pinched-dry, old nobility as they caught sight of her, and then their eyes swivelled to him. They hadn’t even sat down yet, they were still standing up like they were waiting for her to make her entrance. Making an obscene pailing gesture with his long tongue through two spread fingers to make their faces pinch up even more, he relaxed as the Empress let out her hoarse rotating saw-tooth blade device laugh.

“Saury, are we boring ya oar somefin, sucka?”

“Nah, but I’ll let you fucking know, fishtits,” he drawled as he sat down in his new chair, and let the corner of his mouth quirk up as the unrighteous violets on her left and right reacted with predictable fucking dismay. The way her lip-sticked grin widened made him think he wasn’t reading her all too far wrong, at least. And she’d worn the necklace he’d made with the body of her courtier, her belonging that he’d taken and broken and sent back to her as pitch flirtation; he was taking that as her cautious acceptance of his designs on her black quadrant, because how else could he fucking take it. It looked so good around her throat. “Let’s get on with this wicked unfunny hoofbeastshit. I got more important things to do, as I wager do we fucking all.”

It certainly wasn’t the last piece of body part jewellery he sent her, and he was extra fucking careful to make sure that none of the Family got into a position where he’d be the one getting the prettified corpse piece after a brother or sister pailed the barkbeast lusus within her grotesque reach. It was the last and only bit of seadweller he sent her, at the least. He’d needed a big opening to get her to take him seriously, and she did now. He could see it when she pulled him in for a vidcall, how she pushed back at him. Lightly, at first. And then harder, like she was rediscovering how to do this, like it had been something atrophied and dead and here he was, breathing life back into her spade again. 

She sent him a floral arrangement filled with poisonous stingtailbeasts, made up of fuchsia flowers twined with black ribbons.

He sent her a filleting knife with a troll-horn handle he’d carved himself and decorated with Salutation Meowbeast charms.

She flooded the lowblood market with some new fucking sugarswill called TAB which was meant to have even more sugar than Faygo. Fucking impossible, by the way, he had his own scienterrorists on it and it just wasn’t motherfucking possible. Fucking pink tinned shit full of fucking lies. She was the worst, it was un-fucking-deniable. Whenever a member of the Church came across it, orders were to confiscate it off whatever lowblood had bought it, cull the lowblood for being unfuckingfunny, and pour all that fucking shit straight into the sea where it belonged.

He sniped a nest of midblood traitors right out from under the nose of her favourite provocatraitor and then sent her a picture of him in full bloody Subjuggulator glory lounging on the pile of bodies that he had slaughtered by his lonesome. The follow up that had her snarling pitch down the commlines at him was when he sent her a video of him chucklevoodooing the previously undercover and very capable, quite lovely for her caste, provocatraitor into singing ‘I’ve got a lovely bunch of stringhusk-foodglobes (Twiddle dee dee)’ until her blue blood was oozing out of both her ocular and auricular sockets and she collapsed into a spasming heap of idiocy. 

Midbloods. No fucking stamina.

There was a bit more of this back and forth, but Kurloz was going to lay the credit for the summons to her palace on the hundred stanzas of erotic slampoetry he wrote and circulated hemoanonymously. It was traitorous and heretical, but it was a damn good bit of funny all the same. Sort of an ode to the Empress. It was only when you really listened to the words under the rhyme that you found out what it was all about, that it was a fucking call out against her and made certain revolting yet arousing statements about her nook, her bulge, and how she filled her quadrants exactly. It was a really fine fucking piece of work, and even though it was quickly outlawed and possession was punished with automatic culling, he considered the fact that even a damaged and incomplete copy could sell for a few million caegar with a certain fondness.

Especially when a motherfucker took into account that in between and around and through all this pitch courtship, he was still keeping his blood and caste under control and running smooth, giving regular sermons at chapel and making sure that neither brother nor sister forgot his face and his words, while also continuing to manage martial support (covert and overt) to the pissweak slurrylicking Admiralty. He might have wanted the Empress in his fucking spade, but he couldn’t let his responsibilities lie wasted in the background. That would have shown he was pretty fucking incapable of being her rival, if he couldn’t handle his own motherfucking shit.

It took a little while to get out there to her hive, but the sounds of terrified trolls declaiming his especially just for the Empress ode between stutters and whimpers echoing from every corner of her tiled palace seemed to have kept her pitch right down at the blackest level. There’d be the sounds of agony, gurgling, and then a new shaky voice would take it up where the last had been cut off. Aw, this was just motherfucking hitting him right in the damn pusher, it was like finding out your pre-pupation flushcrush had left a box of sugargrubs on your entrance slab after making it through the boobytraps in your lawnring. Romantic as all fucking shit – who knew the ancient bitch had it in her?

He’d have to lift his game, no saltsucker was going to show him up in any area.

Pulling his clubs out of his strife specibus, he stalked down the seemingly empty halls of the Imperial palace on bare and silent feet. Waiting, listening, trying to figure out between the screams and whimpering echoes of his own words in other trolls’ voices, just where the fuck his pitch interest actually was. The voices bouncing off the slick tiles just threw his auricular clots off, gave him back all shattered echoes, no matter how he strained to hear her. The glorious fucking monster who was their Empress. 

When she came out of a side corridor with her trident angled for his thorax, it was something of a relief. At least she was there, he could see her, even though he’d only just managed to dodge her opening charge and the gold shaft of the double-ended trident was currently wedged under his armpit as she charged him into a wall. Seeing her like this was even better than he’d thought it would be, and he grunted as his back hit the corridor wall with a heavy smack. Oof.

“H-hey fishbitch, nice to see you too,” he choked out, feeling the pain radiating through his torso before he pushed her off. Straight into the opposite wall, but he barely got a breath in him before he was fending off jabs from her trident with his clubs. Breaking away, he kicked her right in the stomach and then hotfooted it down the hallway as she choked before chasing after him. He needed more room to swing his clubs if he was going to survive her concupiscent rage long enough to fill a pail.

Kurloz had never been in a pitch battle like this before. Every time they got close, he could smell her pheromones, could feel his chirp and chirr rising in his squawkblister in black melodies but she was sincerely trying to remove his motherfucking head. It was exhilarating. Infuriating. A slice of her trident cut through the threads holding the side of his vest together, and he hissed before his claws caught in a dangling gold chain hanging from her horns and ripped it free. She screeched with pain and the sound cut through the sobbing troll declaiming his slampoem from every corner of the building like razorwire through a throat.

“Oh _yeah_ , fucking give it to me, fishta,” he snarled, and this time, he was the one to pounce. They bowled along the floor with claws raking and teeth snapping, he used his longer reach to punch her in the gills and left her flapping for a second. Just long enough for him to pin her to the ground. He was bucked off moments later, and she had the trident back in hand again and he’d left his upper vestments in shreds on the floor. Flexed a bleeding arm for her, watched her pupils dilate and a snarl vibrate through her thorax and her throat. The murderous subsonics in her voice rippled across his skin like another sort of caress. “C’mon. You ain’t even got to the good stuff yet.”

“I’m goin’ ta feed ya your own fuckin’ bulge!”

“That ain’t what you really want to do with my bulge, Condesce. Don’t motherfucking LIE to me.” He made a vile motion with his hands, thrusting a finger from one through the hole made by thumb and pointer on the other and she screamed. Leapt for him like a tree-dwelling meowbeast for a hopcritter. Kurloz went over backwards and they were back to scrapping and rolling around the floor as she tried very enthusiastically to twist a horn out of his skull or choke him to death. If he’d been a less powerful troll, he would have died right then.

Her breath stank like dead fish and brine and he smashed his mouth on hers as she got her hands on his long spiralling horns, their combined fangs sending tyrian and purple dripping down both their chins. His were wider and a little blunter than hers; her needle-like dental-pegs pierced right through his lower lip like it was made out of sniffnode-wiper-miniplane material. The trident clattered to one side and his clubs joined it as she ripped out a handful of his hair. He roared, smacked her in the face with his claws out but that barely fazed her for a moment. Getting his claws into her body suit, he shredded it right down the front until this time, her slight rumblespheres were fully exposed. Tyrian blood dripped down onto him from the scratches he’d left and his claws stung from hitting the gold inlay she’d dug into her armour plates.

“Like what you see, clownfish?” she snarled down at him, and he could see her hate rising around her like his own doom. Fuck, she was like a typhoon, a hurricane, beautiful and terrible. With her own hands now, she ripped the rest of it off and underneath she was a pure ebony black, black as the pitch he felt in his pusher whenever he caught sight of her. Gold slid across her armour plates like veins in quartz, an awe-inspiring sight. Biggest, baddest bitch around, the Empress of Alternia. Getting his thighs up around her waist, he pushed away from the floor and rolled them so he was on top.

“You fucking know I do, bitch.” Their mouths met again and he groaned into her mouth, heard her ripperblade laugh as she pulled away and felt her claws slice ribbons across his back. They rolled again and this time fetched up against her throne with her squatting over him and grinning down with triumph. Panting, he watched as she leaned back, shook her long hair out like a whip and then leaned down to rip away the waistband of his pants, exposing his bonebulge sheath and the start of his nook. Fair, he supposed. He’d ruined her clothes first.

“Eager little sprat, ain’t ya?” His bulge, obviously not as cognisant of the fact that she wanted him dead as his pan was, curled out of the torn cloth of his pants. Her knobby fingers with their fuchsia-dipped claws got their fondle on with his bulge and Kurloz hissed, eyes squinting closed for a moment as she explored soft areas of his body. Half-ready to have it torn off and to be left bleeding out on the floor in the worst unfunny kind of fucking mirthless joke death he could think of. “Guess you ain’t gotta be ashamed of this seaserpent.”

“Never have any complaints. So show me what you’re packing. Lemme get my ganderbulbs all over that shit.” He hazarded a grin and she cocked an eyebrow. She was perched above him like a gargoyle, and her stupid loathsome hot pink glasses were still on her face. Surprising that they hadn’t been knocked off yet, but he’d have his chance. There was a trickle of blood crawling its way down between her armoured thorax plates from a deep scratch he’d left just under the hollow of her throat and he wanted to lick it up. Clean it up with a sweep of his tongue.

“Didn’t find that out in your researches, huh, buoy?”

“Not entirely what I was fucking interested in until now.” She scoffed at that, and her fingers slipped down lower, him relaxing as they pressed gently against flushed and sensitive parts - until she dug them viciously into his nook. Hooked her claws right inside him as though it was something unfeeling and unimportant. The Subjuggulator’s hips bucked upwards and he howled, before kicking her right between her almost non-existent rumblespheres and sent her skidding backward on her ass. There was blood and genematerial running mixed down the inside of his thighs now, and he pushed his ruined pants off his legs as he got up.

They were both nude now, his charcoal skin shades lighter than her jet black, both of them painted with splotches of purple and tyrian. Had to wonder if he stayed alive long enough, would his armour and hide turn to something darker or if he was constrained to always be just a little gray on the undertones because he was from too late a hatching, too civilized a bucket of slurry. Pity. Motherfucking pity if that was indeed the case. Guess he’d have to wait and see, get some centuries under his belt.

“Motherfucking rude,” he accused her in a low snarl as he bared his fangs, and she laughed the saw-toothed whirlcutter laugh again that had cemented his pitch passion the first time he’d ever seen her. Just so motherfucking _vile_ , from horntip to walking stub. 

“C’mon on then, guppy. Mako me plaice for that ship.”

Another fit of rolling and wrestling on the ground, fighting for dominance, but that wasn’t what he motherfucking wanted. He got her on her back underneath him, his hands fixed around her shoulders and both of them panted for breath. Looking down at her, Kurloz ran a thumb down the centre of her thorax plates, between her rumblespheres and watched as her vestigial grublegs tried to reach out and claw at him from her sides in a kismetic frenzy. His were only scars, nubs. What a fucking lot he had missed out on, being hatched so civilized.

He had the Empress, Tyrant of Alternia flat on her back underneath him and it was just the most motherfucking miraculous sight. She was all sprawled out and throwing pitch pheromones up at him like the drones are knocking on the door, and he licked his lips. Ran his thumb right down her body to the neat slit and sheath between her thighs and running up her belly, where they were already starting to show a hint of tyrian flush. Rubbed until they opened up more and she was purring and crooning, all these little spade-tinted growls as she gnashed her fangs at him. All of a sudden it came to him that the only reason he was on top was because she was motherfucking letting him and that was a dagger right in his pride and he _would_ make her pay for that. Later.

“Well, this _is_ a fucking fine thing,” Kurloz said stupidly, almost in a daze as her bulgesheath opened wide and what came out was not what he was expecting. No slick seadweller bulge with its ridges and frills, long and heavy enough to make him ache, even as big as he was. Nope. What he got was a mess of tentacles, like some sort of seacreature opening up and blooming, each tentacle waving at him like they were saying hello. Each one at least as big as a midblood’s, and as thick, and one or two closer to his own size. Where the fuck had she been hiding that sicknasty mess? She didn’t look fucking _big_ enough.

“Silt fin-k you can handle me, chum-p?”

She looked all kinds of motherfucking smug, like she thought that he was going to back off now. Call it quits. As though he would ever back down from a challenge, especially from a pitchmate. They were about to play a fucking game, and the game was just how much fuchsia bulge can Kurloz Makara pack into his motherfucking nook. He was going to fucking win, and she was going to fucking regret that smug ass bitchitude she was sporting at him as though he wasn’t fucking up for it. 

He was gonna wreck her fucking _shit_.

“...Messiahs all hail, I fucking need that mess in my nook.” He lowered his face to hers and kissed her, moving to straddle her as his own singular bulge lashed against her stomach, his thighs. Biting at each other’s lips and tongues, he hissed into her mouth as the first cold tentacles slid inside the entrance to his nook, squirmed their way on to his interior. With that distraction, she turned the tables on him again and with a thumping twist that knocked the air from his aeration sacks, he was back on bottom with her grinning down at him with her monstrous teeth and big bulging eyes. He put his arms right up around her neck, hooked his wrists together underneath the waterfall of her thick mane of hair and spread his thighs wider to let her inch her way up inside despite the twinging pain from the scratches she’d left in there before with her claws. “Mmmm, fucking miracles, sis, give it _harder_ to a brother.”

“Guess maybay you can fucking take it, bay-b.” Her face twisted, bloody lip curling, she hissed as he felt his own bulge start to work its way inside her own icy nook. She was tight, but her bulge was what was gonna destroy him. The little scritchyscratchy grublegs on her sides clasped him tighter against her, both of them breathing heavy against the other’s skin. Her frondclaws dug in under his last set of grubscars, and he could feel the slow trickle of his own salty blood ease its way down over his skin as she slowly pulled them down to his hips and split him open on the way. And with every slow beat of his pusher, another twining tentacle found its way inside.

“M-motherfuck!” He panted as he felt the entrance to his nook stretch wider as yet another wriggling thing forced its way into him along with its mates, felt her grin against his chest and he pinched her earfin sharply. Made her yelp and he got a nasty bite to the shallow curve of his rumblesphere, which only made him groan. Her tongue trailed along the edge of the torn skin and he hissed warningly. He was not for fucking eating and he wasn’t even sure yet that she wasn’t going to impale him with her double-ended trident as soon as the last drops of slurry hit the pail. “Hff. How many more of those fucking things do you have?”

“Enough.” She turned her head, knocking her solid horns against his and the ache shook right through his pan. Made him pant, and his bulge writhed deeper inside with every ripple of her nook. His own nook felt like it was fit to split, and there was yet _another_ slick cold wriggling bulge testing the give of his slit and starting to ease inside. Somehow it managed to fill him even more. “Don’t t-eel me you’re tapping trout pearly, Makara.” 

“Not fucking ever, you ancient wreck. C’mon.” He curled his fingers through the hair at the back of her neck and pulled sharply, watching as her eyes fluttered behind the lenses of her personal vision-correction device. Licked his own blood off her mouth, and made his grin a lot more firm and nasty than he was really feeling like inside. He was not letting her get the best of him, not in anything. “Get that shit up in me.”

So she did. 

When she was done and finished, he was breathing hard and shallow around the strain deep inside his body, fangs bared and his claws digging into her shoulders hard. They were locked together, bulgedeep in each other’s nooks, arms wrapped around each other and her pinprick painful grublegs were sunk into his sides where, if he’d been ancient like her, his own grublegs would have tangled right alongside hers until they were done. He rocked his hips to ease the ache and stopped when she fucking laughed at him, her eyes sparking with amused hate and he let out a long low growl that would have seen any lowblood piss themselves on the spot. She just laughed, because she was the worst unfunny bitch he has ever had the misfortune to meet.

“Wriggler tang on mora than he could handle?”

“Fuck you.”

“F-eeling a bit _full_ down below?”

“ _Double_ fuck you, bitch.”

“No shame in being truthful, Kurloz. Spray it. Spray it’s too much and you’re a whiny wriggler.”

He could feel her bulges pressing up against the inside of his guts, everything in him felt strained and unnatural but oh so good in the worst kind of way. Shuddered, felt his nook spasm around her and gloated inwardly over the groan she muffled against his rumblespheres. If he could see down, he was sure he would see the mess of her bulges pressing out against his skin so it was visible on the outside, everything was just so fucking full. If this was what he had to look forward to in his black quadrant, then he was one lucky clown. This was off the fucking hook. He had never in his whole life been this filled by a concupiscent partner and it felt just way too damn good.

“I’m gonna milk you dry of slurry, Empress. Too tight for you? Forget what it’s like to get all up and inside a motherfucker?”

“...Meenah.”

“Hmm?”

Concentrating on breathing after that little burst of spiteful taunting, Kurloz almost missed her quiet voice and felt the bulges in him give another little twist. Ugh. So full. Too full. He was still gonna fucking win this though. Slow pulses of pleasure burst in his veins and he held onto his control like it was a bitchtits joke, waiting for the right time to be told. If he could hold onto a joke, he could hold this.

“I said Meenah, water you, deaf?” With all the shit that had just gone down, she somehow found the temerity to blush. Kurloz felt like the world was spinning out of control or backwards all of a sudden, and it was a terrible sight infuckingdeed. Her Imperious Condescension, the Empress of Alternia, Tyrant, downright fucking monster and culler of billions, _blushed_. A dull glow of fuchsia right across her cheeks, between the little shards of carapace that dotted her face-skin. It was cute, and he wanted to rip the thought from the inside of his pan and never think it again. Ever. “That’s my name. If you’re so fucking set on being my spade, guess I can tell you my name, angelfish.”

He gave her a shaky grin, felt the way her multiple bulges twined inside him, strained against his seedflap and tried to reach all the way to places that weren’t never meant to be touched. He wondered if he’d just lost whatever it was they were straining for, the same way he’d lost those graspy little grublegs and all that hellacious armour plating on his bod. “Meenah.” Her name tasted odd on his mouth and he wondered if there was any other troll alive who knew her hatchname. Maybe just him. He would be just about the only one using it to her face for the near future, he was sure of that. Her bulges gave another spiralling curl inside him like nothing ever had before and he buried his face against her shoulder as she laughed unkindly while he groaned half-pained and half-pleasured, her salt-crusted hair rasping against his face. “Ffffuck!”

They stay clasped to each other for a while yet, tormenting each other with sly bites and digs. He could feel the slurry building up inside him in waves, getting ready to be teased out by her bulges, and he’d wager she felt the same with his bulge rootdeep inside her nook too. “C’mon, c’mon, fucking _bucket_ ,” he slurred through his clenched fangs and hated that he was the first to ask but the way she gasped as he said it made him think she was glad for it too. Manoeuvring together was tricky, always was the first time with a concupiscent partner, but they got their kneel on over a filial pail without falling over or doing anything too stupid and ungraceful.

It came out of her sylladex and was bright pink with rhinestones on it. It was one of the tackiest fucking things he had ever seen and he had seen some tacky shit. Next bit of jewellery he gave her, he gave the fuck up on doing anything elegant or tasteful, he was just going to bling it out to eleven. Should have fucking known better after he saw her stupid bedazzled throne.

“You have the worst motherfucking taste, next time I’m bringing the bucket,” he snarled into her shoulder and felt her body shake against his as she laughed. It did the queerest things to his insides as it travelled through to her bulges and the moan he let slip was shamefully weak. “Shit!”

“I’ll mako shore the next one is even moray perchtacular,” she whispered into his ear, and he bit her vengefully, grinding his fangs against her plates. The hiccupping trill she growled into his auricular clots, her fanged mouth pressed up against his ear and into his knotted hair made his body shake. It was so deep, so full of pitch. Then he felt her mouth open against the side of his throat, and he threw himself back and slammed the heel of his hand right up into the bottom of her jaw as their slurry started dripping, raining into the bucket held unsteady beneath them between their clenched knees. “Fuckin’ ow, Makara!”

“Don’t you fucking do it, Meenah,” he snarled at her as she stared at him, an almost sulky expression on her face. The teal hadn’t been much more than implicit, but he knew she’d really been trying to murder him before. And now that their slurry was mingling in the bucket between their knees, this could signal the end for him.

“Wasn’t going to krill you,” she muttered like a scolded wiggler, and he raised an eyebrow before she groaned and shuddered as both their bulges started to retract and withdraw. It felt like he was being hollowed out on the inside as her slick mess retreated from where it had been curled up in all his interior spaces. The drip and slurp of biomaterial draining out of both their nooks into the pail was an obscene kind of music to his auricular helixspirals, and he was kind of intrigued to wonder if this bucket of slurry held the seeds of the next Heiress. It would be a pretty fucking money joke on the part of the Messiahs. “Hoki, hoki...maybe a little bit. Prawnestly, Makara. You could have fucking taken it.”

“...I’m impressed by what you think I can fucking survive, pitchest of spades, but let’s try _not_ ripping my throat out as a nod to the _modern_ way of running a kismesissitude. It ain’t considered fucking couth.”

Later, when he’d introduced her to the idea of his fangs near her genitals and no threat of imminent humiliating death implied because modern kismesissitude didn’t include killing your partner once the pail was filled, he’d settled in to a long session of eating out her nook. Bitch had a killer nook. With one hand tight around her slender ankle, he worked his tongue up inside, mimicking the curl and writhe of a bulge so he could hear her start to make those low growling chirrs that made his bulge unsheathe like he was under threat of imminent death by drone. This time they’d wound up in her formal confabulation chamber, her in her throne-like seat and him curled up around her calves and the furniture like a tame barkbeast, lying sprawled out on the floor with his horns scraping the bottom of the table. With the depths of her nook open to his tongue and her nest of tentacle-like bulges exploring every inch of his face and trying to get through his eyelids and auricular holes to fuck his thinkpan, he sure as fuck didn’t give a shit.

He had tyrian purple running down his chin as he devoted attention to making her make those little rasping growls, knowing that she couldn’t deny the pleasure he was bringing to her. Making her knees all weak so she had to sit down. Driving her right out of her mind and he was making her feel like that. Yeah, him. Motherfucking clown trash with his tongue seedflap deep inside the Empress and wearing her fucking slurry all over his chin and dripping onto his bare skin because he didn’t have any spare clothes to hand. Since this was her motherfucking palace, she had had some clothes - a wardrobifier full of them, the bitch. She was still wearing the tanktop with her sign on it, but her pants were discarded down on the floor with him so he could get his tongue up her nook.

“Gotta take a call, my bay, just you keep doin’ on with wave you’re doin’,” she sighed above his head as the vidscreens around them let out a series of incoming message chimes. He snorted, and continued on with what he was doing, but not before letting his fangs graze up against the base of her knot of unsheathed, curling bulges in silent threat. Rude as a motherfuck. But...it’d be pretty funny, if she started to release all her slurry on his face while she was on a call with her privy council. And his oral game was pretty fucking strong...why the fuck not try for it.

And she had said to keep keeping on. Just doing what he was motherfucking told, like the good soldier he was. 

“We have reason to be concerned, your Imperial Condescension-“

“The Grand Highblood, he’s disappeared.”

What a fucking stern and disapproving voice. That’d be...hmm, Admiral Vezzak. Hadn’t he had his clams pulled out of the fire by a platoon of Subjuggulators just the other cycle? Why yes, he motherfucking thought he had that right. Maybe someone was feeling a little sore over it. If he was that incompetent, he would hate to have it pointed out at all, let alone by a bunch of clowns – but hey, he was pretty motherfucking on top of his shit, so it didn’t fucking happen.

“No one’s seen him for nights. I don’t know whether to be more or less concerned because the Faygo-swilling trash seem to be calm.”

“He could be plotting something harmful to the Empire. You can’t tell with purplebloods. They have no sense of proportion; if they thought it was a good joke...or may the Emissary preserve us, some foretold action from their Messiahs, a holy joke, who knew what they could do.”

Around his head, Meenah’s bared thighs twitched as he pressed his tongue even deeper inside, feeling the stretching pain running along the root of the thick, long muscle probing up her nook. The ache spreading across the floor of his mouth as he tried to make her lose control in front of her highest ranking minions. Lifting his hand, he started to play with the twining mass of her bulge, letting the tentacles grip and flex around his fingers and the tips of his claws as he stroked, felt her thighs quiver just a bit more. Press harder around the sides of his head, before they released.

“Bay-b, you wanna come on up, show ‘em just where you are? What you’ve been doing?”

He growled into her nook, and wished he had a picture of just what sort of sloppy face she was showing her top waders, he bet it was glorious. “Motherfucking’ BUSY down here.” And now he wanted one of _their_ faces as he heard a chorus of hissed indrawn breaths and even some fucking glubs. Since he wanted to see just how gobsmacked they were, he slowly levered himself up, one hand on the table as he rose to his feet between her spread knees. Turned to face the webcamgrub, knowing just how he looked. His face was a mess of her biomaterial over the top of his paint, fuchsia and brilliant, all the way down his throat, dripping onto his shoulders. Motherfucking decadent, and a waste of slurry but it wasn’t like either of them were subject to the pail or cull orders any more. They could do what felt good, not what was strictly needful.

Her ancient hand covered his, the side of her face pressed against his shoulder and he felt the cool slide of her chitin against his own. Their fingers intertwined, his left hand now showing a thick gold ring with a hot pink diamond carved into a spade-shaped setting, spade point turned towards him to show he was motherfucking taken and claimed. Ok. So he wasn’t completely against tradition himself, and quadrant rings had always struck him as a not entirely pointless romantic gesture. Besides, with the Empress in his black quadrant, who wouldn’t want to fucking shout it about. Show it off. What a great motherfucking joke it was, Messiahs hail and bless every troll who found a serendipitous hate like this. 

Black lips curled into a triumphant sneer under the smeared white and gray of his paint, and he ran his tongue along them, let it hang out a little and drip slurry-tainted drool over his chin so he could watch every violetblood on the video screens recoil in disgust. He could feel the empress’ bulges twining around his thigh, or at least trying to and the ends brushing at his nook, straining to crawl back inside. His nook was probably just about drawing them in, greedy motherfucker that he was, and he could feel his colour dripping down the inside of his thigh. His body was bruised and cut and aching and throbbing with satiated caliginous passion, and he knew hers was much the same.

“Heard you been talking shit about me to my main ho, here.”

Together, they were going to destroy every motherfucking thing and make Alternia greater than the Empire had ever been.

“Hey, fishdicks - what’s good?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A flash followup, thanks to a comment by angela1066. :P 
> 
> Condesce and the Grand Highblood have an execution to attend.

“...Can you believe the nerve of this shrimp? Pike, he was all, trolls don’t need to hurt each other! Culling is wrong! Rayght up in my cod damn face, like I wasn’t the Empress or nofin.”

Kurloz watched as a pair of Subjuggulators chained the mutant preacher to the flogging jut in his iron manacles and yawned, as his spade continued to bitch and fuss inside her palanquin. Too early in the evening for this shit, that was for fucking sure. But they had to make this some sort of show, the freak had way too many followers. They wanted everyone to fucking know that he’d been executed, harsh and cruel, try and discourage anyone from trying this shit again. They would wipe out this infection at the motherfucking root, and this would be the end of it. All done. Show’s over. No refunds.

The discordant wail of the oliveblood was starting to get on his fucking nerves though. They hadn’t even started yet. All that had happened to them was that they’d been knocked around a little. He was kind of wondering just what she’d sound like when the irons started heating and her quadrantsmearing moikismesprit started writhing on the jut. Glorious.

“That’s nothing, my bitchiest fishsister. He motherfucking tried to _pap me_.”

“Kurloz, you’re shore that fish is reelly gonna hurt, rayght? I want him to fuckin’ hurt.” 

“Meenah, he is going to wish that the traitor jadeblood had let him die in the caverns like he motherfucking had oughta.” Yawning again and taking a moment to scrape a trapped morsel of breakfast out from between two fangs with a claw, he swept his gaze across the auditorium, watching as lowbloods were herded into the cheap seats by painted members of the Church and uniformed Ruffiannihilators and Cavalreapers. Gossiping courtiers clustered around each other in the spots where they could get the best view and ate snacks while they waited for the show, the admirals stood and talked to each other with solemnity on their wader faces. There were Archeradicators standing by, and he could see Darkleer stringing his bow to the side of the bowl of the auditorium floor, getting ready to deliver the final shot when it was required. The preacher and the feral oliveblood would die here today, the jade to the slaveblocks, and the psionic. Well. That kind of strength had been tagged for the Empress’ use in one of the new interstellar ships, right off. He was going to be the battery for her battlecruiser and it was an honour such a traitorous pissblood did not deserve. “When the irons start heating, he’s gonna wail like a squashed grub.”

“He betta, or I’m gonna...”

“Gonna what, my wickedest hatebitch?”

“Come fin closer and I’ll shell ya.” Curious despite himself and knowing better, Kurloz leaned in to the tyrian curtains she was hiding behind. The palanquin was all over gold, clustered in jewels and pearls. It was some wicked sort of bling, and no one could miss that the Empress was here to personally witness the end of this lowblood rebellion and the execution of its leader. Meenah had been truly thrown by this one, the only real opposition to her reign was meant to come from Heiresses and she hadn’t faced one yet that could have pulled her down. And yet, this preacher. He’d gotten pretty close. One black hand reached out and yanked him down by his stunted earfin, pulling him almost into the palanquin. “Nofin gonna happen to you if I fink he ain’t hurtin’ enough, wiggler, and that’ll be the worst fing I could do to ya. But if this goes the wave I want, I’m gonna pail ya shelly.”

“Mmmm, oh yeah?” the Grand Highblood growled, and felt his nook pulse as she gave him that toothy grin that got him throwing spades every time. He licked his lips and put his elbow on the rim of the window, leaning in a little deeper. “Believe me, Meenah, he’s gonna hurt a whole hell of a lot for the shit he’s pulled. This unfunny heretical hoofbeast shit is over and done with. It ain’t gonna be a problem for you no more, my fishta.”

The curtains of the palanquin kept her in deeper darkness, and he could just see the shine of her bulging eyes and the gleam of her needle-like fangs in the shadows. Claws pricked his cheek as she pulled him in even closer, and he grinned as she kissed him deep and pitch, her obscene tongue invading his mouth, gold rings of her piercings clicking against his fangs. Pulling back, he licked their mingled blood off his lips and watched as she did the same. He always liked seeing her tyrian blood trickling down her chin, especially when it was smeared with his purple too.

“You had _betta_ be wright aboat this oar so help me...”

“Hey, hatebitch, ray _lax_. I’ve got my grasping fronds all over this shit, it is motherfucking _handled_.” Moving back from the curtains, he leaned against the side of the palanquin and went back to watching the crowd. There might be supporters in the lowblood sections, and he was hoping someone would stage a rescue. That would be motherfucking hilarious, and he wouldn’t mind watching some of the saltlickers flap. It wasn’t like it would succeed, not with the amount of firepower on the ground but it might give his laughsassins and Subjuggulators a little bit of fun.

Rapping on the side of the palanquin with his knuckles, he got a low growl from inside which said he achieved his goal of getting his spade’s attention. “Gonna get some grubcorn, we’re starting the show soon.” Everyone was getting settled and there were snack sellers wandering around, and he could smell grubcorn and he wanted some. This was gonna be good, and what always made a show better was something to eat while you watched it.

“Fine, pike I care.”

Of course when he came back with the grubcorn, her skinny fronds were all up in that shit. Good thing he’d gotten the biggest size they had. How many centuries together had they been now, and she was still stealing his fucking grubcorn and she always acted like she didn’t want any right up until he came back with it. “Thought you didn’t give a fuck,” he reminded her as her ringed fingers dug around in the rectangular container, and threw a few kernels back into his own mouth. Snapped them out of the air, and congratulated himself silently on his skill. “Thought you thought grubcorn was so lowclass.”

“So? Hand that ship over here, clownfish.”

“Every motherfucking time.”

“Fuck you.”

“Fuck you back, bitch.”

She scratched him with her claws and he hissed a little, before doing the same thing right back. Accidentally. 

The moons rose a little higher, and he waved his hand at the ninjalette standing by the controls to the irons. “Alright, get ready to light him up, sister! Let’s get this show rolling!” His voice boomed out over the low thrum of chatter, a deep highblood roar that got everyone’s attention. Including the three miserable captives sitting at the feet of a few Imperial soldiers, three sets of oculars snapping to where the freak was hanging and waiting for his sentence to be carried out. “Hold this for a second.”

Handing over his grubcorn to his spade to mind, Kurloz strode to stand in front of the imperial jut, wiping his greasy paws over the sides of his polka-dotted pants. Every time he did shit like that, he got to watch all the waders look they just stuck a wedge of sourfoodglobe in their chutes, and it was always motherfucking hilarious. No matter how old he got.

“For the all the unfuckingnatural crimes of which this shitblood does stand accused, he is being executed by Imperial order! For failing to report his mutant blood and submitting to culling for the good of all trolls! For inciting rebellion against the Empire! For blasphemous quadrantsmearing! For being UN FUCKING FUNNY about a lot of HERETICAL HOOFBEASTSHIT for which I CAN NOT BE BOTHERED being up and fucking DESCRIBING, he is HERE TO DIE! Watch and get your SCHOOLFEED ON, WRIGGLERS! This is what AWAITS BLASPHEMERS AND TRAITORS!”

Turning around, he made a come-on gesture at his sister in paint and winked at her. She smirked back, and threw the switch with a flourish. 

The irons began to heat.

Strolling back to Meenah’s palanquin, he took up his lean against the side of it again and rapped on the window. “Alright, give it back.”

“...nah.”

“...you motherfucking went and ate up all that grubcorn, didn’t you.” He was not fucking surprised. He should have just taken it with him, it wasn’t as though anyone expected professional behaviour from him in public. Fuck him sideways, he was so motherfucking stupid sometimes. “Meenah, I swear to fuck -”

“You gave it to me, hoki!”

The preacher was beginning to scream, and the olive and jade were wailing like their skin was burning right alongside his. The irons were going deep sullen red and starting to really heat up as the freak writhed on the jut like he was being pailed, hips arching and back bending. The metal shackles wrapped around his wrists went to burgundy and right up to cherry and then orange. The scent of burning flesh wafted over the crowd, and Kurloz watched along with Meenah as the mutant shrieked and spat obscenities, cursing the crowd, every troll there was and ever would be, and himself as well for ever thinking that trolls could be better, kinder. Well. Kurloz could have told him just how much luck he would have had with that, and maybe he could have died quick and easy on the end of a culling fork, instead of like this.

“End it,” Meenah growled finally as the mutant screamed out one last almost auricular clot bursting FUCK! 

“As you wish, Imperial Majesty.” Getting up from his slouch, he caught the eye of E%ecutor Darkleer, and gave him a go-ahead wave. It was almost a pleasure to watch the nooklicker work, the way he was so fucking obedient. The great shoulders flexed and Kurloz settled back again against the palanquin as he watched the blueblood set arrow to bow, and then fire.

The mutant spasmed as the arrow drove in between his ribs and the oliveblood’s howl could have split the heavens with how loud it was. She darted forward and somehow managed to get her hands on the bloody leggings of the now deceased preacher, squatting at his dangling feet and looking up at the blueblood who’d just executed her mate. That was when it all started to go wrong. Instead of letting fire with the second arrow on his bow and skewering her like he was meant to, Darkleer _let her the fuck go_. 

And she was gone, like Kurloz had never seen anyone move before, quick and darting and _fucking gone_. Bloody leggings in hand and Darkleer staring after her like she had just yanked his pusher out of his chest and taken it with her.

“Someone get after her, RIGHT THE FUCK NOW!” the purple howled, and felt his eyes start to go red with rage. When he promised his spade a fucking thing, he motherfucking _delivered_. “DARKLEER! What the ACTUAL FUCK was THAT?!” 

The execution dissolved into something that was almost a mockery and all Kurloz wanted to do was kill something. He found his clubs in his hands almost without thinking and it felt _so good_ when he used them to crush a Ruffiannihilator’s pan, splattering blue everywhere. Not quite the blue he wanted to see splashed about, but it eased his pusher some. The lowbloods were scattering in every direction in terror, and it was going to make tracking the feral even _more_ difficult.

Barking orders and shoving soldiers in different directions when they didn’t move quickly enough for his liking, he saw the jadeblood hauled off and in the hands of his own Subjuggulators to the slaveblocks. Once she was sold, she was someone else’s motherfucking problem but he wouldn’t see her go missing before she suffered that indignity. The pissblood was barely coherent as it was, with the psionic blockers on his twinned horns and the cocktail of drugs to keep him placid instead of throwing shit around. He went with the waders, hanging off the hands of the servants who would take him to the scienterrorists, again with an honour guard of good painted mirthful laughsassins. He wasn’t taking chances on losing the last two of the rebel cadre, they would meet their fates just as they were meant to.

Glancing back over his shoulder, Kurloz snarled as he saw tyrian curtains snap close and let out an aggravated sigh. Fuck. 

He was most motherfucking definitely not getting pailed today.

**Author's Note:**

> Is it weird to post what I was flicking back to look at while I wrote? :/ Because these pics are great and I want to acknowledge them as sources of inspiration.
> 
> [Primordial!Condesce and Grand High Blood pic by Spockandawe](http://spockandawe.tumblr.com/post/117737718371/hello-friends-i-would-like-to-call-your-attention)
> 
> [Evolutionary Throwback Condesce by Allegro Designs](http://allegro-designs.tumblr.com/post/117662891052/splickedylits-evolutionary-throwback-condesce)
> 
> [Evolutionary Throwback Condesce by ArgonaApricot](http://argonapricot.tumblr.com/post/117819214877/hey-so-i-recently-fell-utterly-in-love-with)
> 
>  
> 
> [Primordial!Condesce by dropkickedmurphys](http://dropkickedmurphys.tumblr.com/post/117649329440/splickedylit-you-know-what-keeps-occurring-to)


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